“You were not joking about the state of this shuttle, Hasara.”  Trov sat at the helm of the older shuttle.  Harris Transport had found it kicking around one of their small rimward stations and sent it to Starbase 406.  “It is in the roughest shape I’ve seen in quite some time.  It is no wonder Starfleet discarded this.”

Hasara stowed his gear in the passenger compartment while his other two operatives did the same.  Trov was tall and had muscles to match.  He was the Brute Squad, if they had such a thing.  Sinai, the Romulan, curled up in a corner, reading the details of their assignment.  Across from her was the money, the old and wizened Ferengi, Hagaso.  “It was reported stolen from Harris Transport a year ago.”  He looked around, a satisfied smile filling his face, “It looks lived in.”

Hagaso chortled, “Or died in, depending on your perspective.  I’ve made contact with someone on the colony.  They think they can get us a meeting.”

The former Cardassian Gul grunted, “If we were more established, I’d demand a meeting.  As it is, we will have to make a name for ourselves beyond the reputational comm traffic Montana Station’s been spreading.  It’s a careful dance to make yourself interesting but not too interesting.”

Trov plotted the course at the helm, gagging, “I hate to dance. Upsets my stomach.”  They’d named the shuttle ‘The Mad Mango.’  It had been an inside joke when they’d opened up Hasara House on Montana Station – their initial supply of fruit had gone sour and wrong – leading Sinai to call them ‘mad.’

Hasara ignored the quip, “We’ll land and unload our supplies for sale.  Haggle, but don’t get pushy.  We don’t have the weight to start fights with vendors…yet—stake out the bar we’ve marked and wait for contact.  Nobody goes off the script.”  He caught a questioning glance from Hagaso and relented, “Much off script.  We need the meeting.”

“I’ve heard a thing or two about you, Hasara.”  The Orion had identified himself as ‘Sarge’ after the group had sipped at weak beers in the bar for two hours.  Trov had been eyeing the Klingon barmaid, but the arrival of their contact cut short his staring contest with her.  Her sly smile as he turned gave him hope.  “You used to run with Starfleet…now I hear you’re on the outs.”

The Cardassian chuckled menacingly, “They were kind to me when they needed me.  Once my people disowned me, I was no longer valuable.  There is no love lost between us.”

Sarge took a long drink from his cup, “And yet you have a place of business on their newest station.  Curious.”

Hasara sneered, “Desperation in the Federation, well…it breeds strange bedfellows.  They needed someone to run an entertainment and housing facility.  I provide a need, a place of rest for the weary…and a place to conduct business.  Their hapless security teams have already attempted to surveillance my place.  They failed.”

The Orion turned to the crew, who stared blankly back, “You have a talent for recruiting the odd and eccentric…with a side of murder.”  He pointed out Sinai, “You know she’s wanted by just about everyone outside of the Federation.  Quite the body count she’s amassed.”

The Romulan stood, stepping forward.  Her sleepy eyes were transformed into razer thing rapiers, gutting anyone who dared, “Is that going to be a problem?  You and yours seem perfectly willing to tie up loose ends no matter how much blood you spill.  I’ve met your best, Klata.  She’s careless in her killings.”

Sarge kept his eyes on Hasara, his expression unchanged, “I’d hate to kill her.  She seems like she’s got potential.”  His hands rested on twin blades at his side, inching towards them.

The Cardassian stared at both of them, wondering how long to let it go on.  Sinai wasn’t a lightweight, and the ensuing fight would have been evenly matched.  He had a feeling there was a chance they’d face Sarge again.  “Sinai.”  

She feigned offense and sulked back to her seat on the couch beside Hagasi, “Goddamned Orions,” she spat out as she sat down.

Sarge chuckled as he pushed off the edge of his desk. “Well, you’re who you say you are.”  He tapped at his desk, and a holographic report appeared, “The stuff you brought in checks out.  My guy will transfer the credits within the hour.”  He walked around the ornate wooden desk, “You wanted the meeting.  You got it.  What do you want?”

Hasara leaned forward in the armchair, “We want in.  We’re good at armed transport, delivery, inspections – whatever you need. I need seed credits to feed Hasara House…and you’d get access to me and my place.”

The Orion asked, “You don’t want any of the stuff we’re selling?  Surely, you’ve heard some rumors.”  His eyebrows were raised in shock.  Or was it amusement?  Hasara wasn’t sure.

“I don’t need any more…things.  I need the money, and you need the drivers and guards.”  He stood, “Unless you don’t need us, I’ll go find the next one of you to give me a deal.  I hear there’s plenty of fools willing to part with credits for transport.”  He moved to leave, and his team started to stand.

Sarge chuckled, “You are a bastard, Hasara.  Classic negotiation tactic.”

He turned to face Sarge, “No tactic.  We are leaving.  You have until we get to our shuttle to make an offer.  Once our engines kick on, we’re onto the next.”  He led his team out and down the road.

Sinai waited until they were around a corner before asking, “You think that’ll get him?”

Hasara replied, “If it doesn’t, there’s plenty more doors to knock on. We’ll see if his fear of losing us to another team pushes his fear of regret to a tipping point.  Let’s take the long way back…just in case.”